


The Circle Game

by Lirazel



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-23
Updated: 2007-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:53:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  <i>Because it feels like she’s back at the beginning again, and that’s the worst place to be.    But at least this time she knows the way out.</i> </p>
            </blockquote>





	The Circle Game

_  
There is no present or future—only the past, happening over and over again—now._

_~ Eugene O’Neill_

\--

She made a promise to herself, almost two years ago.  She was walking Backup on the beach with Wallace.  Dad had just called to say he was getting in from Vegas in an hour—with a check for catching a bail jumper, his first case since he’d gotten out of the hospital—and that he’d pick up Mama Leoni’s on the way home.  Logan had left a message earlier that day that she’d listened to a dozen times (not that she would admit it) telling her he couldn’t wait to see her, he had something special planned for this weekend now that he was officially clear of charges, and signing off with a couple of snarky comments.  The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot, and there were clouds in the sky, but they were the big fluffy kind that looked like pillows and stuffed unicorns and comfort.

It wasn’t a perfect day.  There was a fat guy in a Speedo walking by—for the hundredth time, Wallace suggested they make that illegal.  A couple of frat boy types were being loud and obnoxious not ten feet away, probably trying to get her attention.  She had sand in her hair and her underwear, and her new flip-flops were rubbing blisters between her toes. Mom was gone again.  Lilly was still dead.  She was still one of the most hated and ostracized girls at school.

But Dad was alive.  Lilly’s killer was behind bars.  Logan cared about her.  She had a best friend, one who was completely different from Lilly, but just as perfect.  She knew who had raped her, and had made a semblance of peace with it.  She had completed her mission.  She was who she wanted to be.

She’d flopped down on the sand beside Wallace, and Backup laid his head in her lap, and she remembered.

She remembered the beginning of the year, the end of last year, every day since Lilly died when she had felt scared and lost and helpless.  Everyone she had thought loved her, except for Dad, had abandoned her.  Her world was defined by sitting at an empty lunch table.  She had no idea what to do with the broken pieces of her life, and the only thing in the world she was certain about was that she would not rest until she found Lilly’s killer.

She was a wreck.  Just remembering that time made her queasy, made her want to crawl under the covers of her bed and never come out again.  But she wasn’t that girl anymore.  She would never retreat again.

She remembered now, and she vowed to herself that she would never let herself be that way again.  Never feel lost or confused or desperate or abandoned.  She would fight for the people she cared about—and it seemed like that number was growing all the time.  She would fight for the truth and to see justice done.  She would never forget who she was.  She would never beg for closure.

She’d kept that promise, mostly.  She’d slipped up a couple of times, most notably that night on the roof of the Neptune Grand when she’d thought a heartless, broken little boy with sad eyes had stolen it all away from her and the afternoon they read the verdict and she realized that Lilly’s murderer would never be punished for what he did.

But those moments were far outnumbered by the ones in which she surveyed her life and felt content.  Sure, she and Dad still scraped to be able to buy the things they needed and she was never going to be the most popular girl in the world and life, in general, was no fairy tale, no rose garden.  But she had Dad and Wallace and Mac and Logan and Duncan and Piz and her camera and her taser and her smarts and her own two feet.  She knew who she was.  She was Veronica Mars, and that was enough

But it never lasts.

\--

She should have known last night.  Known before, actually—when she had asked Wallace, for the millionth time since she’d met him, to do something she had no right to ask him to do.  Should have known when she saw him stumble out of that warehouse nearly naked and shaking.  Known when he looked her in the eyes and silently begged her not to pursue it.  Known when she did anyways.

And if all of those weren’t big enough hints for Veronica Mars, oblivious extraordinaire, when she looked up at that portrait of Lilly, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her eyes lit with mischief, her lips pouting flirtatiously, she should have known.

Should have known that you never really get away from who you were.  Should have known that she would end up here, at this exact spot, because she’s been lugging it around with her for years like a ball and chain.

All of a sudden she realizes that she isn’t quite sure who she is anymore and hasn’t for quite some time.  The last couple of weeks she felt more like herself.  She’s been feeling more snarky and competent, excited about her internship, happy with Piz.  But all of that was just a farce.  Because she realizes she’s gotten to a place she didn’t know she was headed.  A place where everything is just too familiar.

Because now, if she looked at herself in the mirror, she’d seen the same girl who walked away from Shelley Pomroy’s party.  Best friend gone.  Mother gone.  Innocence gone.

Because she’s that Veronica now—again.  Jake Kane and Clarence Weidman and Dad-the-bungling-local-sheriff and a reputation as a slut and staring at Lilly’s picture and wondering how she ended up in this place.

She should have figured that out last night.  The night before.  Three weeks ago.  Or anytime since she started down this road again.

But she didn’t know.  Not till this morning when she found an empty kitchen and that article.  Not until she walked out of the voting booth and into the rain, alone.

\--

It seemed like the only place to go at the time.  Now, it just seems sick and weak and strangely comforting.

The Kanes didn’t sell their house when they fled Neptune.  Even now, though apparently they’ve returned and bought a new one, there’s no need for them to sell it.  Maybe they couldn’t let go.  Maybe they couldn’t bear to sign the papers that would transfer the ownership of their memories to another person.  Maybe they just forgot.  In any case, they long ago hired a maid service to send someone once a month to clean and air the house, check for moths and mold and dust, keep everything as pristine as Veronica remembers it from her childhood.

Her dad would look at her with sad eyes if he knew that she knew this.  She doesn’t care.

She’d left right from the voting booth to come here.  Parked two blocks away.  Walked down the street, her tennis shoes filling up with water.  Walked around to the back of the property.  Scaled the wall.  Settled down by the pool, running her fingers over the rust colored stain on the stone.

Now it’s hours later, dark except for the few weak lights from the house that spill out over the water.  It’s still raining and her skin is puckered and seamed and as wrinkled as her clothes.  The raindrops still make ripples across the surface of the pool.  Her feet still dangle in the lukewarm water and her head is still bowed.  She’s cold and her head aches and feels like it’s full of cotton and she isn’t sure she could move, even if she wanted to.

The phone rings.  It’s _The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air _theme song, a song that’s always driven her crazy.  But she and Wallace had been flipping channels the other day, and he’d gone crazy when they found his favorite show from childhood, singing every word, throwing out phrases like “old school” and “bringing back memories.”  He’d stolen her phone, changed her ring to this song and laughed and laughed as he did.  She’d laughed, too.

It isn’t the first time the phone’s rung today.  She’s pretty sure there are seventeen missed calls—and probably seventeen messages.  She could let it be eighteen, but it’s late and it’s Wallace and she’s always owed him more, always taken more than she’s given.  She lifts the phone to her ear.

“V?”

“Yeah?”

“Veronica, where are you?  They’re going to announce the results soon.  Shouldn’t you be here with your dad?”

She shakes her head to try to clear the fog, and raindrops and strands of soaking hair fly around her cheeks.  “Where are you?”

“At the apartment, girl.  Everybody’s here.”

“Everybody?”

“Yeah.  Your Dad and Piz and Mac and Weevil and Cliff, and I think that’s Deputy Leo.  Oh, and Logan showed up and brought Dick.  I know you two are fighting—want me to kick him out before you get here?”

Her laugh is watery and sounds more like a sob.  “No.  It’s fine.”

He tries to sound casual, but he just sounds concerned.  “You are coming back, aren’t you, V?  You’ll make it back.”

Under the steady drumming of the rain against stone, she swears she can hear Lilly laughing.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’ll make it back.”

She hangs up and slips the rain-slick phone back into her pocket.  Then she rises unsteadily, feeling her knees protest, and starts for the wall.  For home.

 

Because she can make it back.  She may not know who she is at this moment, may not know what it is she wants.  But she can figure that out, with the people who are waiting for her in an apartment with no hot water and doors that stick.  And when she does, she can get it.

After all, she’s been here before and she can get out again.

Only it’ll be easier this time.  This time, she’s not too proud to ask for help.  This time, she knows the way.

\--

_  
What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step._

_~C.S. Lewis_

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately post-"The Bitch Is Back."
> 
> The title comes from a Joni Mitchell song of the same name and the quotes belongs to Eugene O'Neill and C.S. Lewis.


End file.
